One Realization That Leads to Another

Today is the Feast of Epiphany, according to Western Christians. According to Wikipedia, the feast day commemorates not only the arrival of the Magi in Bethlehem, but the “revelation of God the Son as a human being in Jesus Christ.” I’ll buy the Magi’s arrival; it’s the manifestation of God part that stretches the date’s credibility. Not that there is anything wrong with it. It just isn’t for me.

The same Wikipedia page has a link to the page for “Epiphany (feeling).” Which credits James Joyce for possibly coining the usage of epiphany to mean “an experience of sudden and striking realization.” His stories in The Dubliners all involve characters coming to some realization that alters their view of themselves or the world around them. It is conceivable that large doses of beer and whiskey may have had something to do with those “striking realizations.” Interestingly, for me, anyway, the author of this particular page also equates William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch as a terminology of epiphany, as well. How do Christians feel about having a word so closely associated with the first big feast day of the year secularly implying “drug-influenced state(s)” and beer-soaked revelations? Then again, the Magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Frankincense and myrrh are both popular for use in incense, and we know who burns most of the incense, don’t we? Let’s just say many of us stop “burning incense” when we get out of college.

Perhaps, in a related vein, back in 1974, Tom Scholz was burning incense when he had an epiphany in his basement in 1974, and the song “More Than a Feeling” manifested itself in his mind. Boston, my favorite band EVER, released the song on their 1976 debut. I am certainly not trying to equate Tom Scholz with the Son of God. Nor am I implying that “More Than a Feeling” is a song of anything more than mild musical significance. It just happens to be where my mind took me on this particular intellectual exercise.

Maybe more significantly, today is also the birthday of Jeanne d’Arc, according to some sources. Being an inveterate skeptic, I suspect that her birthday is more than likely not on January 6. It just seems too coincidental that the day that the (arguably) second most famous Christian martyr (sorry John, the Baptist) was born on the same day as the manifestation of the first most famous martyr as a human being. Then again, if one negates the manifestation of the Son of God thing (see paragraph one), Joanie’s birthday is a bit easier to swallow. At any rate, Joan was a fascinating young woman--most likely delusional, but fascinating nonetheless. And without her inspiring and tragic tale, we would not have one of the most beautiful silent films ever (The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)) nor one of the best-known Smiths songs (“Big Mouth Strikes Again”). Granted one might argue that the Smiths couldn’t have written that song without the invention of the Walkman, either. You might also argue that they might have written the song even without the allusion to Joan (or a Walkman), but that just wouldn’t be the same song, would it. At any rate, wouldn't it be sad if the Smiths were most well-known simply for "Girlfriend in a Coma." Seriously.

Most unfortunately, however, today is the final day of Winter Break for kiddos in this neck of the woods. Tomorrow, we will be back to shaping young minds. And I hope to find more time to keep up with this blog, albeit with a new focus. Instead of Central Standard's traditional, unfocused, hard to maintain ramble from random thought to random thought, I hope to focus on today's tone of edification and the loose division of fact and opinion to create a regular discussion of topical current and historical events.  If anyone has any ideas for topics, leave a shout in the comments.

Thanks for stopping by!

Wholesome Goodness

Our weekend up north was great fun. Highlights for me include the seediest hot dog joint in America (said one diner: "It made me sick ALL DAY.") A groovy breakfast (best toast EVER) at the neighborhoodly Birchwood (If you put asparagus and fennel in my scramble, I will love you forever.)). An evening meal at Two Pony Farm that involved fresh greens, great cocktails, a tasty Mendocino wine (among others), and one (nearly) severed thumb (mine). Sleeping on the screen porch. Salted strawberries. A pleasant hike at Afton State Park. A second foray to the Blue Door Cafe (whose head honcho is a Lincolnite--go figure!). A nearly passed out trek to Izzy's for unique flavors of ice cream. And, a last morning chow of fried cactus and Cuban steak and eggs. In addition, Mr. Ambassador helped me clear my head and straighten my thinking on buying a new bike.

As usual, our hosts were awesome (and I know I am leaving out something). We will see them in a few months in Colorado, but, perhaps, we (or they) can fit in another visit.

What Would Papa Think? (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Five)

With no prior experience as a European traveler, most of my notions of Europe, for better or worse, come from Ernest Hemingway. The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls—these were my blueprints for Europe. So, in some way, I imagine Firenze, prior to my arrival, as a place firmly stuck in an era of history that was, at least, eighty years ago. I also imagined myself strolling through it, a suave, hardened man of experience, ordering caffe and grappa from a corner bar, and reading the local leftist paper while I smoked away the morning. Other expatriated Americans would come and go, including Monkey, of course, as we whiled away the day until a late supper found us all gathered around a red-checked table in a tiny eatery, loudly debating local, national, and international politics, surrounded by bottles of wine and more grappa, tearing loaves of bread with our hands to sop up the greasy gravy of a local stew. And of course, the days would be brightly lit by a merciless sun, the evenings would seem eternally crepuscular, and the nights would be candlelit.

And, I guess, some of that came to pass. But first, we had a major museum to tour.

Let me pause here to apologize for the dearth of pictures that this entry will contain. Taking pictures in museums and churches, where we spent most of our time in Firenze, is generally frowned upon. Where it is not strictly vietato, use of a flash is clearly not acceptable. Thus, even were we able to take pictures, which we tried to do where we could, the increased exposure times made taking decent pictures difficult for two folks with limited camera skills (i.e., the Monkeys). So, until we get outside (tomorrow, really), the photojournalism is limited at best. Now, back to the show.

The Accademia is not a very big space. I believe it is part of an art institute in Firenze. It has two floors, the second of which is relatively tiny, and contains some really impressive fourteenth century triptychs and polyptichs and other devotional art in all its gilded two-dimensional glory. The first floor, while also not large, does have the irresistibly attractive centerpiece known as David.

Before one reaches David, however, a long hallway is home to other works of Michelangelo, namely, The Slaves, four unfinished pieces intended for the tomb of a megalomaniacal pope. The power of these pieces is undeniable, but, we found it interesting, in overhearing a tour guide discuss the emotional weight of these figures struggling to break out of the unfinished marble, that the interpretation of the pieces hinges on an accident. As far as Monkey and I can discern, the artist had every intention of finishing these figures. If that’s the case, can their unfinished nature be included as part of one’s interpretation of the pieces? It’s an interesting question to ponder, I think, and one that gets to the heart of meaning making and the role of the artist and the observer in that transaction. But enough about these little unfinished blocks of stone: look down the corridor there, and what do you see, looming three times larger than life itself? The anatomical perfection of David, contemplating his task and clearly certain of his victory.

Everyone has seen pictures of this immense (in size and significance) figure, but seeing it in person, as it fills the atrium of this small gallery, being able to circle it and look at it from many angles and in changing light, is an experience that really can not be described. You just have to see it, really. It’s a beautiful thing.

The remainder of the museum’s first floor is exciting enough, with some wonderfully large Renaissance canvases, but after the centerpiece, the rest is nearly just decoration.

After several hours in the Accademia, the pattern from yesterday was repeated, as we rested up for about an hour at the B&B, and then headed to a little place called Ichee ch’e ch’e (or something along those lines, spelling wise), which translates to “whatever is, is,” for dinner. Without reservations, we were seated in the center of the restaurant at a long “family style” table. Let me tell you something: in general, I hate eating “family style” (unless I am, indeed, with my own family, and, even then, I don’t always enjoy it so much, you know?). We were seated next to a couple, who were seated next to a single hippy. It turns out that the couple next to us were on their honeymoon from New York, and the hippy was a freshly minted high school grad from Cali. As we ate, another couple came in and sat next to us. We recognized them from breakfast. They were staying at the same B&B as we were. They were from Minnesota (via Omaha, believe it or not).

So, in true, Hemingwayesque fashion, we passed the eternal twilight around a red-checked table, a small tribe of very temporarily “expatriated” Americans, drinking wine, sopping up gravy and ragu, and debating, if not the future of the recently installed Italian government, at least the merits of nearby gellaterias.

When Not to Vote

Today is Primary Election Day, here in Nebrasky. And, for the first time in a long while, I am not heading to a polling place on a voting Tuesday.

Why, you might ask? Well...

Beside the presidential race (the results of which, here in Nebraska, have no bearing on the delegate count--really, they decided that at the Caucus in February), we have a state senate race and a US Senate race going on, and, after less than a year here in this place, I have no idea who to vote for. I have some suspicions, but I feel woefully uninformed (even with reading a newspaper everyday). I hope to correct that by the time the General Elections roll around.

In adittion, there are a couple of ballot initiatives out there, but I don't know for sure what they are. I don't really know how I can be this unaware of what is going on, except to blame it all on a state-wide media conspiracy to keep the citizenry of Nebraska ignorant of the issues and the candidates stance on said issues. Not only does this theory put me in tight with the Left wing radicals that I try to befriend (Hippies!), it also alleviates me of any responsibility whatsoever.

Then again, maybe it's just stone cold apathy.